


Distraction Is In The Details

by OneofWebs



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Purple Hawke, Sex, Smut, Some Plot, Warrior Hawke - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 12:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13434312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Anders sometimes-well, all the times-forgets to take care of himself when he gets too wrapped up in writing his Manifesto. Hawke is really just trying to help. Really.





	Distraction Is In The Details

**Author's Note:**

> So. Funny story. I've been working on my prompts everyday, and I'm a few days behind because I've had this nasty illness for like a week. I was catching up, and one of them was pick a random word out of the dictionary and go for it. I do not own a dictionary, so I used a random word generator. The first word it threw at me was "penetrate", and my friend filled in the rest from there. 
> 
> I really haven't written porn in the longest time, so here's hoping I did alright. T h a n k s.

Hawke ran his hands over Anders’ shoulders, down, down, until he was leaning over him. Anders hadn’t moved yet, hadn’t really even acknowledge Hawke was there. He was fixed on the paper in front of him. His manifesto. He’d been writing all day, and the only sign of life was the empty glass next to him that had since gone dry—typical Anders.

“Hey, love,” Hawke grumbled at him. Not even the scratch of his beard against Anders’ face had done anything. It always did. Scratch that off the list of absolutes he could get away with.

“Not now,” Anders replied, monotone, like some pre-planned message he was going to throw at anyone who stepped into the Hawke Library to disturb him.

“Yes, now. It’s late, late I say. Late means put down the quill and come to bed,” Hawke tried again, and oh it was a desperate, pathetic attempt. He nuzzled down into the crook of Anders’ neck, his hands reaching down to his waist.

“I’m busy,” another monotone message. Attractive, really, Hawke could barely contain his eyeroll.

“I could find ways to keep you busy,” he proved his point, or really tried to, by rubbing his fingers down what of Anders’ thighs he could reach.

“I’ll be done soon,” Anders even had the audacity to bat at Hawke like he was some kind of dog, or something. Hawke would not be deterred though, and that was Anders’s biggest mistake.

“A few minutes at the most, that’s a promise,” Hawke whispered, and he pressed a heavy kiss to Anders’ neck. Another one, another, peppering them up along Anders’ jawline. 

Anders paused for a minute, and even looked like he might put down his quill. All he did was shove Hawke back by the nose, of all places, and let out an annoyed gruff.

“Let me finish what I’m doing, Maker.”

Hawke huffed, “You know I prefer Hawke.”

And that did it, just well enough, that Anders turned around in his seat. Quill forgotten on the desk. Anders didn’t really looked amused, with a quirked eyebrow and a dead set line in his lip, but that stare was something else. Hawke was almost on the verge of losing this battle.

“That’s a pretty bold statement,” the slightest hint of a smirk.  
Hawke replied with a full-fledged shit eating grin, “I’m willing to make good on it. Your manifesto can wait, I on the other hand, will not.”

That won Anders over, and he was out of his chair. Hawke caught him in his stumble—been sitting too long, and pulled up his face to meet him in a kiss. Anders was on him in a second, hands up in his hair and kissing him back at full force. He let out a groan between the kisses, and let Hawke manhandle him out of his jacket. They hit the floor right after it did.

“Ow,” Anders laughed. His hands were plastered to the floor at either side of his head, lying there just waiting for Hawke to make good on his promise.

“Sorry,” came a half-hearted mumble. Hawke was already yanking at Anders’ shirt, pulling it out of his pants so he could strip it off. He reveled in being the one who got to do this, who got to see Anders at his most vulnerable, and so many times at his happiest.

“Mm, Maker, hurry up,” Anders yanked him out of his own mind, pulling him back down to kiss him. Hawke was up on his elbows, all decency not to crush his partner. The kissing was intense, it always had been, and it was warm. Each little press was like fire, and then he licked his way into Anders’ mouth, and it was so much more. 

He pulled away, a moment just to breath, and ran his fingers down Anders’ sides. Every little bump and crevasse, every little curve and jut that made this Anders, he mapped them, face buried in at the side of his neck again where latched on. The last time he’d left a mark on Anders, Isabella hadn’t shut up about it for days, but there was a voice wedged away in his pants that was making it very hard to care about the consequences to come. And the way Anders groaned made it all the worse. Anders’ hips bucked up, and he squirmed as Hawke made his mark there. Sucked, and bit down just enough. The sigh was incredibly.

“Scenery okay?” he made a point of asking. Anders gave a helpless nod as Hawke pulled back to pull off his own shirt.

“Nobody ever comes in here but me.” Like it was some kind of comfort, and Anders reached up to bring Hawke back down. Now they were skin to skin, and Hawke still working lower around Anders’ hips. Belts were sometimes too cruel.

“M’bout to change that,” another kiss along his neck. Hawke trailed them down his chest, and stopped at a nipple, which he latched onto to suck. He flicked at the other with his thumb, rolling it around in slow, languid circles while he worked his tongue over the first.   
Anders rolled his hips in response, and tangled his fingers in Hawke’s hair. He didn’t have time to think about the dreadful joke, not with the way Hawke’s free hand was worming its way into his pants.

“Oh, Maker,” Anders’ breathy sigh. Hawke pulled away from his chest in turn for kissing him again, pulling those little groans and sighs right out of him. Only a moment of reprieve later, and Hawke had both his hands back at Anders’ chest, pushing and rolling around his nipples. It was enough to send a shiver down Anders’ spine, make him whimper through their kiss. All the while, trying so desperately to find purchase again, rolling his hips upwards. Hawke was devious though, and for what second he ground himself into Hawke’s thigh, in the next, Hawke had shifted again so there was nothing but air. 

“You’re a tease,” but he didn’t sound angry, exactly. Instead, he shifted, spread his legs apart in invitation and wrapped his arms around Hawke’s neck. The perfect trap for any stupid man, and Hawke rarely didn’t fit the bill. He settled down nicely, back to kissing perfectly along the curve of Anders’ neck, and Anders ground up into him.

“Fuck,” Hawke groaned.

“Thought that was the plan, love,” Anders muttered. Just a subtle reminder, or a gentle nudge. Whatever it was, Hawke seemed to get it.  
He pulled back far as Anders would let him go, and worked some rough touches down Anders’ sides. Enough to really make him squirm, until he finally settled on the line of his pants. Hawke yanked them off, small clothes too, and sat back on his heels to admire his handy work. Really, just to watch Anders shiver.

Hawke ran his hands up Anders’ thighs, delighting in the feel of goose bumps all along his skin. He followed up with his tongue, tracing along the marks, bruises, old scars, anything. Peppering small kisses around, here and there, finally hoisting Anders’ legs up unto his shoulder so he could really do some damage. The insides of Anders thighs were always so sensitive, and Hawke devoured whatever he could reach. Dark, angry spots in his wake, left from sucking, kissing, biting. No skin left untouched, it was only fair.

“Hawke, please,” Anders was growing impatient, to say the least. Squirming with each new bite into his thighs, oh, Maker, it was fun to watch. But Hawke was feeling that same urgency, to get somewhere. The growing pressure in his pants was being none too forgiving, and he set Anders’ legs down. That was the only cue Anders needed, and he was up working at Hawke’s pants too.

It did take the two of them to finally get Hawke’s pants down, and a bit more fumbling to get them off his legs. It ended in a very tired huff and Hawke flat on the floor, Anders leaning over top of him, after a bit of a scuffle. But they were both laughing, and that’s what mattered.

“Be careful with those,” Hawke urged.

“What, don’t want them to join your torn trouser collection? Don’t think I don’t know,” Anders gave a playful smirk.

“Very funny. No, I mean,” before he could finish, Anders dropped the offending article of clothing onto the floor, and the clank it left was all the more enough to finish Hawke’s statement.

“You came in here for this,” Anders accused, when he found what had made the noise. A bottle, and he held it up right in front of Hawke’s face.

“Whatever,” and Hawke snatched it from him, glaring every slightly as Anders snickered. It was a nice change of pace, and he wasn’t about to tell Anders that he didn’t come here to get a grab at him, because that would be lying, and a little rude. So, instead, he reached around and pulled Anders over, on top of him, so he could at least shut him up with a heated kiss.

Hawke shifted slightly to make it easier on himself, but he managed to cover his hand in the substance of the bottle before easing his arm around Anders. Anders, who had taken well to the now slow and lazy kissing, let his fingers roam a little longer over Hawke’s chest, but he danced them downward soon enough until he found Hawke’s dick, straining erect against his stomach. Already dripping with precum. He smeared it down along the shaft, before wrapping his fingers around the base. Just firm enough to make Hawke groan.

Anders jumped suddenly at the cold press of fingers to his backside, but he didn’t complain. Instead, he dropped his kissing along Hawke’s neck, around his chest, all the while stroking his cock in some slow, teasing manner. To make up for all the nonsense Hawke was so good at putting him through. Hawke wasn’t idly laying by and taking it though. He slid his fingers down between Anders’ cheeks, and rubbed along the cleft of his ass. Slowly, painfully, until he reached the puckered entrance there.

Anders sucked in a hard, anticipatory breath. He’d even giving up kissing in turn to just bracing his forehead against Hawke’s collar bone, waiting. There wasn’t much time between that, and when Hawke first pressed in a finger. The initial penetration always felt strange, and Anders was never really ready for it, but Hawke knew just how to work him, to work his finger inside. Down to the second knuckle, and Anders was already shaking. It just wasn’t fair; he was having trouble enough keeping up pace, now to have Hawke’s finger sliding bit by obscene bit deeper into him—his hand faltered on Hawke’s cock. 

Hawke worked his finger in, out, slower each time until he removed it completely. More lubricant, and he slid right back in with no resistance, and a shiver wracked Anders’ entire body. Hawke couldn’t help his smirk, and he picked up the speed. Thrusting his finger in, and out, back in particularly rough, where he held it this time, twisting and twirling back and forth until Anders let out a yelp.

“Hawke, really—Maker—please,” Anders panted, but he wasn’t hiding anything. His mouth dropped open in a silent groan when Hawke hit that place again, and this time he didn’t back off. Rolling and pressing his finger around the area. Anders could feel a building pressure in the pit of his stomach, unmistakable heat.

“Hawke—I’m, this is not how I wanted to do this,” Anders managed out, and Hawke stilled almost immediately. Anders whined in response, shifted his hips backwards, as if to tell Hawke that was a mistake.

“Anders,” Hawke tried, and Anders glanced at him briefly. Still working his hips back. Hawke watched for a moment, before smirking. “You’re just spoiled, I got it,” and his laugh went unheard as he pushed his finger forward again. Anders let out a gasp.

His gasp became a moan as Hawke worked in the second finger, alongside the first. Anders moved to the best of his ability, in sync with the new pounding rhythm Hawke had set. But, Hawke came to another stop not long after, that left Anders shivering. Instead, Hawke spread his fingers.

“Hey,” he muttered, taking Anders’ hand. He guided it back down to his cock, and Anders got the message. He let his fingers dance around the tip, just teasing for the time being. Hawke let out a dissatisfied grunt, but continued nonetheless.

Three fingers, three knuckles deep. Hawke worked them in and out of Anders mercilessly, reveling in the way he groaned into their kiss, the way his hips bucked and rolled with each new press to his prostate. Anders was riding the wave of almost, and Hawke knew that better than anyone. All the while, he kept a light grip around Hawke’s cock, just languidly stroking—no destination, no goal in mind, really, just enough to keep Hawke with his mind on the task at hand. Not down south.

“Love,” Anders pulled away from their kiss long enough to whisper, “I’m ready—can we move this along?”

“So impatient, and here I am doing my best for you,” Hawke pretended, best he could, to pout. But he wasn’t about to complain, not really. Not when Anders smiled again, and let out the softest of little laughs. Maker, he was perfect.

“Here,” Hawke finally pulled out his fingers, and Anders couldn’t hold back the little gasp from his throat. He’d gotten so used to it, the feeling of being empty was torturous, but there wasn’t much time to dwell on it. Hawke rolled them over slowly, Anders lying flat on his back. 

“I’ll do all the work,” Hawke muttered into his ear, pulling his lobe with his teeth just before he moved away. Anders chuckled, again, watching as Hawke moved back to sit on his heels. 

He covered his hands again in the lubricant before spreading it over his own dick. The way he worked it was slow, purposeful, giving Anders a bit of something to watch. Anticipation of what was to come, what was about to be inside of him. A little teasing never hurt anyone.

“Hawke—Maker, please. Hurry,” Anders reached out to him. Hawke met him half way and intertwined their fingers. The briefest of kisses followed before Hawke got them situated. One leg up on his shoulder, the other spread wide to give him enough room. He took himself in hand, rubbed the tip of his cock along Anders’ ass, between his cheeks. Just enough for him to feel it, just long enough for him to want it. Anders was already groaning, before Hawke finally pressed inward. Shallow, weak little thrusts, enough to leave Anders stuttering and rolling his hips to find more.

But, Hawke kept him steady, kept one hand on his thigh to keep him from moving too much. Not that it wasn’t always so exciting to see Anders so desperate for him. Just for a different time. He pressed in slow, inch by agonizing inch, until he was pressed up flush against Anders. Anders, who had somewhere forgotten to close his mouth, and was just panting along helplessly. Trying, but failing, to roll his hips to meet Hawke. He was well rewarded; Hawke gave one quick snap of his hips. He pulled back, slowly, but a rough thrust back in.

Anders let out a yelp, and it devolved into a long drawn out moan as Hawke set a pace. Hawke leaned over him, until their foreheads were nearly touching, and pressed a kiss to his nose. Deceptively sweet. In the next moment, he had started pounding against Anders, each new roll of his hips ended with a rough grind. Loud with the sound of skin slapping against skin, and Anders pathetic whimpers at each new thrust. His entire body moved under the force, and all he could do was grip onto Hawke’s shoulders like his life depended on it. He buried his face into Hawke’s neck when he’d leaned down far enough, and wrapped his free leg loosely around Hawke’s hips. The pace stuttered just so, and Hawke pressed in deep, rolling and grinding his hips against Anders.

Then it hit him, that fiery burn in the pit of his stomach when Hawke angled just right, rubbing the tip of his cock along that spot inside him. Anders saw stars, digging his fingernails into Hawke’s back.

“There, there—Maker, right there. Hawke, please,” babbling, useless babbling. It was almost cute, if Hawke wasn’t feeling it took. That coil of heat deep in his pelvis. He rocked his hips forward, and untangled himself from Anders to pull back. 

He pinned Anders’ hands to the ground, holding him at his wrist, and picked up his pace again. Each thrust heavy, hard, and loud with obscene wet noises and skin against skin. Hawke couldn’t contain his own voice, either, and let out a groan. Anders toes were curling into the carpet beneath them, and just so clenching tighter around Hawke.

“Shit—love, relax,” he panted. He probably meant it, but god it was tight, and warm, and Anders hugged him so perfectly, he really didn’t mean it. Anders wasn’t listening, either, and just rolled his head to the side. Hawke was panting, watching the way Anders squirmed underneath him. Intoxicating. He shifted, to hold both of Anders’ hands in one of his own, and the other moved down to Anders’ so far neglected cock. 

He was none too gentle, and jerked Anders along in time with his thrusts. Panting, moaning, shivering mess. His back arched, and his eyes were closed tightly. The way his nose scrunched up—Hawke knew he was close. They both were. Hawke shifted, knees up under Anders’ thighs, and hit him just right against the spot with each new roll.  
Anders was done for.

“Hawke!” he cried, the only warning he gave. He shot over his own stomach, and went all but limp a moment later. Hawke continued a few thrusts more before he leaned back. Anders groaned when Hawke pulled out, but lulled his head back forward to watch as he jerked himself. Rough, fast, like he was desperate for release too. It didn’t take long before he finished, and let out a deep groan as he came over Anders, then dropped his head down to rest in the crook of his neck.

“Maker,” was all Hawke really managed.

“I usually prefer Anders, but that’s alright too,” Anders replied, curling his fingers again through Hawke’s hair. Hawke didn’t dignify even a laugh, but he smiled into Anders’ skin and pressed a kiss against his neck.

“Love you,” he muttered, and Anders hummed in response.

They took a minute to rest there, to catch their breath, before Hawke finally pulled himself onto his feet. The mess of clothing was the least of his concerns, and he used his own discarded shirt to wipe the mess of come from Anders’ skin. It went back on the floor in a messy pile of clothing, from which Hawke did pull his pants back on. He wrapped Anders back up in his coat, still laying open beneath him.

“Let’s get to bed, shall we?” a rhetorical question, as Hawke stood up, and he took Anders with him. Bridal style, as one should always do with the one they hold most dear. Anders had given up complaining about it, and settled in with his face against Hawke’s neck. 

The walk to their room was a quick and hurried one, though it was late, there was never much to say for who was still lurking around awake downstairs. They’d really rather not be seen, not in this state of disarray, but it was safe behind the doors to Hawke’s room, at least. Well, their room; Anders always had to remind himself.

“Safe and sound,” Hawke joked, finally laying Anders in the bed. While Hawke crawled over top of him to plop on the other side, Anders worked his arms through his coat. Something to keep warm with, at least, even as Hawke wrestled the blankets over top of them.

Then, he pulled Anders into his chest, and wrapped a lose arm low on his hips. Hawke was smiling, that much Anders knew, because he was too. It was always so intimate, after they were done, no matter where it had been done. Hawke always made sure of it, and he even made sure to reach around and tug Anders’ hair free of it’s tie. That, he just tossed off in some direction. They’d find it in the morning.

“That will never work to distract me again,” some weak promise as Anders nuzzled closer, enjoying this skin to skin contact.

“I was not distracting you, just making sure you rested. Got a little bit of exercise, maybe.”

Anders scoffed, “Right—not trying to distract me. I’ll keep that one for the records.”

“I’m not,” Hawke insisted. He ran his hand up over Anders side, up over his arm and into his hair, where he held his head so gently and pressed a kiss to it. “I’ll be the first to read your manifesto. I’ll even be the first to fight for it,” as if the glistening sword leaning against the wall wasn’t testimony enough. “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take care of yourself while you write it.”

Anders didn’t reply, just stared blankly at the expanse of skin in front of him. For the longest time, until Hawke’s breathing had evened out, and his arm had fallen to rest loosely over his side again. When the snores started, he knew he’d waited long enough, and he snuggled as close as he could get to Hawke, legs entangled, fingers grasping uselessly at the skin of his back. 

Hawke had never ceased to amaze him, and that unbridled support was one thing he could never get used to. For Hawke, someone who hadn’t ever shown an ounce of magical talent, still had so much sympathy for the plight of the mages. Really, that had been more than Anders could’ve ever asked for in someone who looked at him like that.


End file.
